Blue Eyes And Old Hatreds
by Tyraa Rane
Summary: As she watches the Horde storm Theramore Isle, Jaina wonders if maybe she misunderstood the orcs, and their enigmatic leader. Short ficlet. Spoilers for TFT, Acts Two & Three of the Bonus Orc Campaign.


_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any money from, the use of these characters, settings, etc. All belongs to Blizzard Entertainment.  
  
Author's Note:I was disappointed by Jaina's lack of involvement in Act Three of the Orc Campaign--I felt like exploring her perspective a bit more. This is the result. Probably contains some hints of Thrall/Jaina, since I ship that. Those who are not in favor of that pairing are hereby warned.  
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Blue Eyes and Old Hatreds  
  


  
Jaina could understand perfectly why they'd chosen to storm Theramore. It was the only option they had left, if they wanted to save the kingdom they'd worked so hard to build. But when she stood on the cliffs above the city and watched the wholesale slaughter, she began to wonder if she understood at all.  
  
She had been prepared to kill Thrall when they first met, in the caverns under Stonetalon Peak. And he, too, had been ready to kill her--until the Prophet had intervened. Somehow he convinced them both to see each other with new eyes, to respect--if not completely trust--each other.  
  
She knew, though, that their alliance had not all been the Prophet's doing. When she first saw his faded blue eyes, she found herself unmanned. Never before had an orc looked so _human_ as when she looked into his eyes.  
  
She had been with him, too, the night Grom Hellscream died. When Mannoroth was slain the explosion of flame and ash could be seen for miles around--she had gathered a small contingent of foot soldiers and priests and run for the canyon as fast as she could. They arrived just as Thrall was leaving, limping, one arm cradled close to his chest, dragging his warhammer in the dirt behind him. He was covered with dirt and dust and blood, and though he did his best to look strong for her men, she saw the grief in his faded blue eyes. Out of respect for him, she sent her men home ahead of them, and he allowed her to support him as they made their way back to her base.  
  
Less than two weeks later, in the chaos of the battle for the World Tree, he repaid the favor--when her base fell, he carried her back to his, rallying as many of her troops as he could along the way. When his base finally fell, she used what mana she had remaining to take them far from the battlefield.  
  
They should have been the strongest of allies after that, she imagined, but something had stopped them. Something had stopped _her_. She took the human survivors and fled as fast as she could for Theramore Isle, as far from the shadows of Ashenvale--and the place where Thrall had told her he planned to establish a new orc kingdom--as she could possibly get.  
  
The slaughter in the city below was her fault, she knew. She had distanced herself from the Horde so much that the only binds connecting their two races was the informal treaty she and Thrall had made that day under Stonetalon Peak.  
  
She knew now, watching the Horde run through the streets of the city she'd strived so hard to build, that any form of friendly relations between them had come to an end. Her people would never forget this night, just as his people would never forget what her father had done to them.  
  
She cursed herself for hiding like a little girl, as well. A hundred times had she prepared the spell that would take her to Thrall, and a hundred times had she dispelled it at the last moment. She wished she had tried to convince Thrall to leave Theramore alone--though she knew in her heart his course had been set from the battle in Tidefury Cove, she still wondered if there might have been another way. She knew her father was a strong man, stronger than she could ever aspire to be, though she still wondered if she could have tried reasoning with him, too.  
  
Instead, she had gone to Thrall and begged him to spare her men--a minimal and futile effort, she knew. In the end, her father would still be dead, and she would be left with no allies and a city in ruins. She took only a little comfort in the fact that Thrall himself remained behind in his base and did not march out with the rest of his orcs into the slaughter.  
  
And she wondered, briefly, if she ever saw him again--would she ever find his eyes as human as they once were?  
  
She thought she had understood the enigmatic warchief. She thought that she, alone of all humans through the centuries, had finally found common ties between humans and orcs. But now, watching the slaughter in her own streets, she wondered if she was finally seeing the Horde's true nature. She wondered if her father wasn't right. She wondered if he really did understand more than she did about the race she'd allied herself with, and she wondered if she was just now coming to understand them as he did.  
  
Humans and orcs could never be allies, she saw now--the hatreds between them were too much, and too old.  
  
She knelt on the cliff, her eyes averted from the destruction below, and prayed--she had not prayed since Lordaeron fell and she believed the gods to have abandoned them all. She prayed for the slaughter to end, and she prayed that, one day, she and the blue-eyed warchief would once again lean on each other for support.


End file.
